I’m a Hostage Princess, But My Confinement Is Way Too Cozy - Chapter 2

Volumes 1 & 2 of HPCWTC are available uncensored on ko-fi! ※ This work contains depictions of coercive relationships, explicit language, and other graphic content. Reader discretion is advised.

It seems Sylvia is destined for a long life after all. From outside the castle walls all the way to entering the imperial palace, I heard countless insults and mockery. Curses about me, my family, my country, even my people—you name it, they said it. But since I’m not actually Sylvia herself, none of it really got to me.

Bound by ropes, I was dragged like a dog into the center of a massive hall where a golden throne decorated with pure gold and lion pelts sat majestically. On that throne slouched an emperor who looked much younger than the novel had described, though he was too far away for me to make out his face clearly.

And surrounding the emperor, nobles who had come to gawk at me were packed together so tightly there wasn’t even room to step.

Well, of course they’d all be curious. The greatest beauty of the Kingdom of Roang had been brought here as a hostage, after all.

The men would be busy checking out just how appealing my face was, while the women would be busy comparing my looks to Amelia, the empire’s reigning beauty queen.

Through my disheveled hair that had fallen forward, sharp and persistent gazes poured down on me. Their eyes burned with the desperation of someone frantically trying to lift a secretive veil. Just then—

“The criminal Sylvia Arperio, raise your head.”

“Ugh.”

My hair was yanked so hard it felt like my delicate scalp might tear right off. As my chin was forced upward, the hair that had been covering my face slipped smoothly behind my ears. A face that shone brighter than the most dazzling jewels was revealed beneath the chandelier’s light.

Every single person gathered there collectively held their breath. It was the kind of beauty that anyone with working eyes would have no choice but to acknowledge.

Even covered in ash and without a trace of makeup, she was beyond comparison with the empire’s most celebrated beauty, no matter how elaborately adorned.

What’s more, Sylvia’s dress was torn to shreds, brazenly exposing the soft curves of her chest, her thighs, and the pale skin of her back. If they would have stared with lustful eyes even when she was properly dressed, imagine how much worse it was now that she was practically in tatters.

Starved gazes devoured me greedily. A sharp current of electricity shot down my spine. Even the whispers that were undoubtedly vicious gossip sounded intoxicating.

The crowd wore expressions as if they were looking at something disgusting, barely suppressing their nausea, but—

I know the truth.

These people all claim to hate me, yet every single one of them is absolutely turned on by me.

Among them, three pairs of eyes were particularly relentless in their stare.

The male leads of this novel.

The most intense gaze belonged to the one positioned at twelve o’clock—the empire’s crown prince.

Kallist de Valencha.

His alias was the Black Knight of Valencha. It was commonly known that he earned this nickname because everything from his hair to his armor, sword, and even his beloved horse was black, but the real story was different. He got the name because wherever his feet touched on the battlefield, nothing remained but black smoke and ash.

His sharp features came into view—chiseled like a sculpture carved from obsidian. His beauty was like a perfectly honed blade. It seemed like even the slightest brush of his fingertips would draw blood. His imposing build and aura went without saying. His mere presence was enough to inspire fear.

His personality was every bit as cruel and arrogant as his appearance suggested. The women of Valencha didn’t dare even speak to him. The only person this prince—who showed no mercy equally to all—truly cherished was his younger brother. And tragically, that very brother had died at the hands of Sylvia’s older brother.

That’s why the crown prince despised Sylvia.

‘He definitely has a presence that’s in a league of its own.’

Kallist’s crimson eyes scraped across my face like a blade.

From his deeply furrowed brow and twisted lips, undisguised hatred radiated so clearly it was impossible to miss. He looked like he wouldn’t be satisfied even if he tore me apart right this instant.

As if to interrupt Kallist’s razor-sharp stare, I felt a bone-chilling gaze from the four o’clock position.

Ruasil Arno.

The High Priest of the Valencha Empire. The second male lead of this novel.

When I turned my head toward the direction where I felt that serpentine gaze slithering across the back of my neck, I saw a man so blindingly beautiful it made my eyes water.

His magnificent golden hair, as if spun from actual gold thread, swayed just barely brushing his shoulders. His pure, water-blue eyes that seemed completely ignorant of any carnal desire rippled gently. Around his lips lingered the characteristically merciful smile of a priest. If Kallist was the god of death, then Ruasil could be compared to the god of the sun.

His slightly rounded eyes and full lips had softer lines compared to Kallist, giving him a more feminine appearance. However, despite his pretty face, his broad shoulders and towering height made him stand out distinctly among the other priests. He looked less like a high priest among priests and more like the sun god among mere mortals.

But that sacred and noble face of his, godly as it appeared, was nothing but a fraud.

Behind that angelic face, Ruasil didn’t hesitate to engage in depraved acts so filthy that even demons would stick their tongues out in shock.

Among the three male leads, Sylvia feared Ruasil the most. Her relationship with him wasn’t exactly… conventional. But despite her dislike of him, Sylvia experienced the most exquisite pleasure in her encounters with Ruasil.